


wrap around me, my reflection

by Lertsek



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, growing up and trying to quell that loneliness, lore fusion with a hint of faerie dust, yunho is mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lertsek/pseuds/Lertsek
Summary: A water well stands in the middle of a field. The grass is always green here, the sun always bright and high in the sky. There is no bucket hanging from the roof of the well, what it does have, though, is a voice.Despite Seonghwa knowing better, he talks back.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Park Seonghwa & Song Mingi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	wrap around me, my reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the people who said to grow a pair and publish my first Ateez fic.

Seonghwa would never judge him for leaving. Even if he can’t fathom up the reason why, he doesn’t judge. That’s what his mother taught him to do, after all, to have an open mind. That is how he was raised. Seonghwa wonders if that’s how his mother will continue to raise him, because her mind isn’t open. Not right now. There is no room for thought or explanation, there is no room for excuses. Seonghwa thinks his mother calling his father an asshole for leaving isn’t very non-judgmental. 

After two weeks though, he starts to see her side of the argument. It’s quiet without his dad. Seonghwa misses his laugh at the dinner table, his work boots in the hallway, the streaks of mud that somehow still ended up in the living room despite his father claiming time and again he really did take off his shoes. Seonghwa used to measure his feet against the muddy prints, before his mother made his dad clean it up himself. He liked imagining that one day his own foot would be that big. 

After two weeks, Seonghwa starts to see his mother’s side of the argument. And not only that, but he takes her side too. His father was an asshole for leaving. Seonghwa is happy he had to spend his last days in this house on the couch. 

His mother teaches him that _bad_ is almost a synonym for _dad_ and Seonghwa, always eager to please, happily uses it. 

The silence in the house is filled up by a feeling that has permanently set into his bones and made itself at home. He can’t banish it, so he leans into it, lets it hold him. Because his mother can’t and it’s nice to be hugged back sometimes. 

He learns the actual word for the feeling a year later. It’s the year a lot of things fall into place. It’s similar to playing memory for Seonghwa, like how the empty pit in his chest that has started to feel like a permanent part of his body matches very well with the word _lonely._

Seonghwa likes words. He collects them and writes them down, stores them beneath his pillow where the words form sentences and the sentences become stories that he takes with him when he falls asleep. They start to play behind his eyelids even when he is not in his dreamscape. Sometimes differentiating dreams from reality becomes hard, especially because Seonghwa knows he would rather be wherever his mind takes him. 

Sometimes reality blurs, so when Seonghwa first finds the water well he thinks it’s another thing his mind has spun as something real. 

He’s taller than most of his classmates, but still too short to look over the bricks. They feel solid against the palms of his hands, which leads to the beginning of a thought that maybe this is not as made up as he thinks it is. 

There are two wooden poles on the stones, coming together to form a roof over the well. It functions as a shade against the sun when you move with it as time ticks on. Seonghwa sits. 

The grass looks greener here, even in the shade. The stones dig into his back but not hard enough to be uncomfortable. The paradises Seonghwa always imagined in his mind were the ones with the beaches on faraway islands. Places of which his mother used to talk about wanting to move to. Something about bathing in the sun with a glass in hand. A parasol fitting in somewhere. Maybe in the drink, maybe outside of it, maybe both. 

Seonghwa always imagined paradise to be loud, not quiet like this. The only sound is that of his bored hands pulling grass out of the ground under him. Seonghwa wonders how deep the well goes. Is it a long drop? Is there water? Seonghwa hadn’t seen a bucket. 

Maybe he is dreaming? He doesn’t remember going to sleep. 

The silence here is different than in his house. There is more of it here, in bigger volumes. No footsteps of his mother going up and down the stairs, no voices from the television that fill up space, no coffee machine that signifies the start of a new day. 

The silence here is almost overwhelming, but Seonghwa has a weapon. It’s not something he uses very often, but it would be effective here nonetheless. 

“Hello,” Seonghwa says. Because that is the first thing you do when you enter a new place. You greet it. Maybe his mother has withdrawn her stance on not forcing judgment, but she still urges her son to be polite. Even if their town is on the more modern side than others, that doesn’t mean the things that lived here before them just up and left because humans figured out how to install cable tv. 

So Seonghwa acknowledges the silence, what he doesn’t expect though, is for it to acknowledge him back. 

“Hello!” comes a voice. It’s loud and there’s a slight echo to it. 

There is no one around him—Seonghwa even chances a peek around the well—but in his mind, he knows there is only one place that voice could’ve come from. 

“Are you there? Hello?” 

Seonghwa contemplates not answering. But that would be rude, and Seonghwa doesn’t like being rude. 

“I’m here,” Seonghwa says, getting to his feet. It feels like he can address the voice more properly like this. 

“Hey! Hello!” 

Its enthusiasm makes Seonghwa want to return it in the same manner. They’re male, older than him, going by a certain deepness in the voice Seonghwa has yet to hit. It also sounds like the voice of someone who would be a great bother. Someone Seonghwa would avoid if the energy levels with which the guy has spoken so far are any indication of his personality. 

“You’re human, right?” the voice asks him. Which is weird, even for airwaves that are coming out of a well. 

“Yes...” Seonghwa trails off, response hesitant, like he himself doesn’t really know either. 

The voice turns suspicious. “Are you sure?” And before Seonghwa can even get in another word, it’s already going on a tangent. “Cause if you’re not could you tell your king or queen or whatever is ruling now that I really don’t appreciate you folks coming here and throwing your awful pomegranate seeds into the water. Also if you’re here to bargain for my soul I have to disappoint you there is a line and you are—” 

“I’m not here to bargain for your soul,” Seonghwa interrupts. “Honestly I don’t even know how to extract a soul.” 

The voice is quiet, for a single, beautiful second. And then it returns just as cheerful. “Well, that’s good to know! I swear I’m getting so sick and tired of those you-know-what coming here and sprinkling their stupid dust into the water. Magic my ass that shit just itches.” 

“Those what now?” 

“You know, the,” the boy hesitates, “well you know.” 

Seonghwa scoffs. “I think it’s clear I don’t.” 

“If you come closer, I can whisper it to you, maybe?” the voice itself sounds unsure and maybe even a bit hurt by the proposition they made. “Where even are you, are you hiding?” 

Seonghwa may be a lot of things, but he is not a coward. “I’m not hiding!” He looks at one of the wooden poles, it looks stable, like a good hold to not tumble headfirst into the well. “I could try and climb up the stones,” Seonghwa says, already feeling for a grip, trying to find somewhere to balance on with his right foot. 

The voice is quick. “No! It’s okay. It’s fine.” 

Seonghwa retracts his hands and plants both of his feet back onto the ground. 

“I don’t think I could do it anyway,” the voice says softly, like it doesn’t quite want to be heard. 

“Can’t do what?” Seonghwa presses his ear against the stones, trying to hear better. It doesn’t help, the voices’ next whisper being just as quiet as the wind around them that not even the echo can form it into something intelligible. “Could you repeat that?” he asks.

“You’re persistent, aren’t you.” 

Seonghwa has been called many things, but never was one of them being persistent. He never had anything to be tenacious about after all. Not that he is now, but he has to admit that he is at least a bit curious. 

He stays silent, has found that works well for him everywhere else so why not here. 

And it does, because after a beat the voice admits, “I don’t think I could say their name, they kind of scare me.” It sounds genuine enough. 

“So you’re kind of a coward, huh?” 

The laughter bounces off the walls of the well. It is loud and overwhelming, just like the person it belongs to. 

“I guess you could say that,” comes out between wheezes. “Please don’t tell anyone though, I have an image to uphold for my coworkers.” 

Seonghwa smiles despite himself. The reason why Seonghwa called the voice a coward wasn’t because it wouldn’t say the name of the creatures that teased him—Seonghwa probably wouldn’t have either. No, the reason why Seonghwa accused the voice of being a coward was because even if the admission had sounded genuine, it wasn’t. He had caught the rush underneath the answer, the slight reluctance, the nervous laugh that was desperate to be covered up.

A boisterous coward and a liar. Definitely someone Seonghwa would go out of his way to avoid. And besides, there is still the question if this is not his mind playing tricks on him.

Seonghwa doesn’t want any part of the well and the guy in it, he’ll think up something better to escape reality with.

* * *

Mingi is a handful. 

His personality is like Seonghwa’s in his rare extrovert moments and then still ten times more to the extreme. 

Extreme seems like a fitting description for Mingi overall. He is extreme in the way he talks and expresses his thoughts, extreme in stating opinions and letting his presence be known, but, as Seonghwa comes to learn over the weeks that pass, Mingi is also extreme in stating his love. Which he only does for things he cares about. Which is a category Seonghwa now falls under, not that he really had any say in that matter. 

Mingi has taken him under his wing without Seonghwa even noticing it. The boy had been delighted Seonghwa had come back, which, again, had not really been a conscious decision on his part. His feet had just led and he had followed. 

Which he keeps doing over and over again. Every day after school he finds himself walking through a familiar setting, settling down against a stone wall. He changes it up sometimes, just lying in the grass completely, or standing if he doesn’t have much time. But mostly he sits in _his_ spot, slightly off-center on the left side of the well. He is surprised to find that the grass is always fully grown, no matter how many times he leaves it unplucked behind him when he goes. 

The leaves may have begun to fall from the trees in the normal world, but here nothing changes. The grass is always green, the sun is always there, shining brightly down on the wooden roof that hangs over the well. While the outside world is going to sleep, it seems like this place doesn’t have that word in its vocabulary. 

Instead, it seems to welcome him every time with its fresh colors. It feels like an escape, and maybe, if Seonghwa has to be honest with himself, it is starting to feel like a second home. 

While his actual home grows colder and stilted as winter approaches, the well and the space around it seems to be in full bloom. Much like his friendship with Mingi seems to blossom as time goes on. Something he also didn’t know was happening until Mingi himself had stated it. 

In one of his more sentimental moments, Mingi had said that he liked having Seonghwa as a friend, that he was glad they had met. 

And that was that, Seonghwa had a friend now. 

_I’m glad too,_ he had said back. And to his surprise, he’d meant it. 

Growing up, there is a lot of talk about firsts. First memory, first girlfriend, first kiss, first time getting blackout drunk, first time having sex, first heartbreak, first time stepping into a faerie ring—and then never again. While most of these bring a different name than Mingi’s to Seonghwa’s lips, there is one first he will treasure more than all the others, even still years later. 

Over time he will think back to Mingi’s laughter that always came easy and made Seonghwa feel worth something. Mingi’s unrelenting patience as Seonghwa struggled through the simple answer to _how was your day_ and later through explanations and ideas he had for his stories. Struggling until he wasn’t anymore, and instead started to feel confident in the way he spoke, knowing that the things he had to say were worth being said and listened to. Or at least Mingi thought so, and for Seonghwa that was enough. 

Years later Seonghwa will still look back on those days he spent beneath a wooden roof and treasure them. While others will talk of other firsts, Seonghwa will remember the voice coming from the inside of the well. He will remember their banter and how Mingi taught him that being kind is something to strive for. Seonghwa will remember Mingi, his first friend.

* * *

Seonghwa starts middle school and he is not the quietest in his class anymore. There is a boy who takes up the silent corners in classrooms, snatches them before Seonghwa can. And what is Seonghwa to do but sit next to him. 

Mingi laughs at him the first time Seonghwa tells him about Yeosang. It’s an encouraging laugh, a laugh that says maybe try and talk to him instead of brooding in silence. 

Seonghwa takes this advice and hides it in the pocket of his favorite jeans, which he does with most of Mingi’s guidance. He hides it in a place where he knows he can reach if he needs the encouragement, the silent reminder that someone out there is rooting for him. 

It takes a year, and maybe a bit more, but finally the border is breached. Even if it is with Yeosang telling him to stop wiggling his leg if he knows the answer and to just speak the fuck up. Seonghwa stills before shooting back that Yeosang’s tongue clicking habit is just as annoying. 

He spends his afternoon recounting the incident to Mingi who finds it highly amusing. Seonghwa stomps off to his friend’s voice yelling out that maybe insulting people is the modern day key to friendship. He stomps off to Mingi’s laugh resonating into a looping echo. 

The next day, despite himself, Seonghwa tries again. 

“Your right arm is always poking over the middle of the table but I guess you can skateboard alright.” 

Apparently, it’s the right thing to say because,

“Your face looks like the dragons people keep claiming to have sighted in the west but I guess your fashion sense is passable.” 

Seonghwa can take that, Seonghwa can work with passable, that’s something he can sculpt. 

Yeosang keeps looking at him, a smirk slowly creeping onto his lips. “So you’ve seen me skate?” 

There are two things Seonghwa will deny in this life. The first one being that he talks to a voice that comes out of a water well, the second one being that he might have spent some days where he wasn’t talking to said voice on the outskirts of a skatepark, watching a boy soar out of a halfpipe and barely touch the wood again before already flying out the other side. 

“No,” Seonghwa says, resolute. 

“No?” 

Seonghwa doesn’t like that tone. He doesn’t like it one bit. “I mean I’ve heard about you,” he admits with reluctance. Seonghwa starts to wonder why it has to be the people that he would otherwise want to stay away from that he keeps on engaging with. “You know, from others.”

Seonghwa has interacted more with their teacher than with his other classmates. You can’t blame him, not when his teacher looks like an excited puppy that beams with pride every time Seonghwa opens his mouth to talk. 

“Right,” is all Yeosang says, keeping his grin on his face even when he turns back to face the front. 

When an elbow crosses over into his space of the shared table, Seonghwa notices that Yeosang is quick to reel it back in. 

Alongside his mother and his teacher, Yeosang becomes another person Mingi makes it a point to ask after. 

There is never much to say about his mother, even less about his teacher—even though Mingi likes to linger on Yunho specifically—but the more Seonghwa gets to know Yeosang, the more he has to tell. 

Yeosang, the boy who became just as much of a loner as Seonghwa when his childhood best friend moved before they could start middle school together. Yeosang, the boy who dared him to pull out turkey tail mushrooms from a tree once—something that has Mingi scolding him for half an hour straight once he finds out Seonghwa actually went through with it—and suffered the consequences with him. Yeosang, the boy who dreams big and will take Seonghwa with him when he finishes school to chase after life outside of this village.

* * *

A year passes and another person gets added to the roster of people Seonghwa now spends his time with. It isn’t so much that Yeosang and him adopt Jongho as much as that Jongho adopts them. He’s in the year below them and while he might start out as shy, Jongho quickly proves them wrong. He crawls out of his shell head first and it’s a sight to see.

Beneath the layers rests a boy who knows more about the world than they all do. A boy that looks at his surroundings and where others would see gloom, he sees opportunity. A boy with the voice of an angel and someone Seonghwa can’t help but feel the want to protect. There is still a naivety clinging to Jongho, something that will rub off with the years. A naivety that Seonghwa isn’t sure he wants to see vanish completely. 

Seonghwa looks at him and thinks that Jongho would make a great protagonist for one of his books. 

Finding Mingi becomes harder, but when he does it’s in the late hours of the evening in the normal world. Hours during which he is faced with the fact that the gaping hole in his chest hasn’t completely healed yet, even if his mother has started to smile again. Smiles directed at _him._

It’s during those evenings that Mingi calls him a social butterfly, seeing as he is making friends now, actual friends. People he can touch and see and introduce to his mom. He wants to introduce them to Mingi too, but Mingi says he can tell they make him happy. _Treasure them,_ he says. Seonghwa swears he will and sticks the promise in his right breast pocket. 

The late evenings are the hours during which Mingi mostly fills up the silence, and Seonghwa gratefully listens while he lays on the grass and waits for morning to come. 

He has grown now, when he sits down on the left side of the water well with the stone wall touching his back, he can reach out with his left hand and touch one of the wooden poles with his fingertips. Hypothetically speaking, he could look into the well while standing. 

At one point he brings it up with Mingi, in a voice smaller than he thought he possessed. 

“You can try,” Mingi responds. 

Fear and curiosity are forging their own battlefield inside Seonghwa’s mind. Commonsense lingering on the sidelines, not quite wanting to intervene.

“You don’t have to,” Mingi reassures. Just so Seonghwa knows the option to keep pretending is out there. So Seonghwa knows he doesn't have to break the spell. But he can, if he wants. And Seonghwa’s curiosity really wants. 

The curiosity takes fear by the throat and squeezes. He stands up from the grass and places his hands on top of the stone. 

Seonghwa asked Jongho once how the younger boy could appear so fearless in a world where there were dangers lurking around every corner. Real or imagined. 

Jongho answered that if there was something to be afraid of, the world would’ve already shown him. 

Naive is the word now bouncing through Seonghwa’s head as the stones dig into his palms. Naivety, a new challenger. But instead of gearing up to dethrone curiosity, it links hands with it. Seonghwa looks down. 

There is water, clear blue reflecting water even if the sun can’t reach it. 

Maybe the sun can’t reach but Seonghwa can. And Seonghwa wants. Seonghwa really really wants. If only to know if it’s real. 

His reflection wants it too. Seonghwa can see it reflected in their eyes. His eyes. 

Seonghwa reaches out a hand just as a voice comes thundering through the determination in his brain. 

“Seonghwa,” the voice demands, “stop.” 

Seonghwa bends over the well, can feel the stones push into his stomach as he reaches forward. He wants to know, needs to know. For his own sanity, even if he may have lost it long ago. 

“Please,” the voice says. “Seonghwa I can’t.” The voice turns inwards, trying to convince itself more than the outside world. “I won’t.” 

There is water, clear blue reflecting water even if the sun can’t reach it. There is water and then there is—

* * *

Hongjoong. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a bird?” 

“Can’t say I’ve heard that one yet. Dragon, yes. Bird, no.” 

Hongjoong the transfer student. Hongjoong the boy with pants that are a certain kind of special, crafted with more flannel than actual denim. Hongjoong who is just Hongjoong. So completely and utterly Hongjoong that he makes Seonghwa want to be completely and utterly Seonghwa. 

He’s a weird fit, out of place in their group full of awkward musketeers who live off of snark and dreams. But then again Hongjoong has just as many dreams as all of them combined. And snark can be learned. Even if Seonghwa kind of likes Hongjoong without that quality. 

“I hate your rat tails.” 

“Yeosang told me that you being mean means you’re trying to flirt. Are you trying to flirt, Seonghwa?” 

“Definitely not.” 

“Bummer cause I am.” 

Hongjoong who arrives like a hurricane from the east. The sand is in his blood, under his nails, behind his ears. Hongjoong hates the weather and the people and the general lack of _warmth._

Seonghwa can’t offer him much in that regard, but what he can offer is passion, and besides that he was always good at crafting something out of nothing. 

But there isn’t nothing here. There isn’t nothing in the way Hongjoong looks at him. There isn’t nothing in the way Hongjoong draws a blank when introducing him because the word friend doesn’t quite fit. There isn’t nothing in the way Seonghwa’s chest feels like it’s in full bloom whenever he is even within reach of Hongjoong. Like the younger boy has taken Seonghwa and shaken him out of his long winter’s sleep. 

Hongjoong his second kiss—if you count the time he and Yeosang just wanted to know what it was like—but first in every other regard. It’s awkward but it’s Hongjoong. And with Hongjoong, Seonghwa is willing to do awkward. With Hongjoong, Seonghwa is willing to do butterflies and late night dinner dates. Modeling new creations and whispering unfinished drafts into skin and not his pillow. 

There is Hongjoong where there used to be a different voice. A voice Seoghwa now can’t find anymore, no matter how many times he combs through the woods and walks over meadows still sprinkled with morning dew. 

He upturns all his clothing for a hint, a location marker, _something._ But the only thing he finds is empty pockets that he has let Hongjoong paint on. 

In his search, he relocates the little dragon pen Yeosang gave him as compensation of having to deal with the fae after that stupid dare back in middle school. 

In his search, Seonghwa finds Jongho’s courage and with it he screams Mingi’s name. 

But there is nothing. No echo bouncing off of stones built around water. No boisterous laughter. No sign of the friend Seonghwa was sure existed outside of his imagination.

* * *

They cut off Hongjoong’s rat tails and burn them. For what, Seonghwa doesn’t know. A statement, an exclamation, or maybe the almost ritualistic show is for their own pleasure. 

To Seonghwa it feels like something is coming to an end. Which is weird because they still have one year left to go, and after that their entire lives left to live. 

Yeosang has always been looking at ways out of this village, which means he has always been looking at schools. He has narrowed it down to two. Both give him the same education he needs to become a teacher, both are still located in the south. Close to their hometown, but far enough away that you can’t breach the distance and return in the same day. 

Seonghwa knows that if Yeosang wanted, he could take the opportunity and get his ass all the way north. But there is something in the south for him, or rather someone. A someone who still sends Yeosang cards for his birthday, and Christmas, and tells him not to do anything stupid on Hallows’ Eve. It’s someone that doesn’t plan to leave the south, and so Yeosang has decided to stay too. 

Compared to Hongjoong, the distance Yeosang is traveling is small. Hongjoong wants to go back to his own hometown. Somewhere where it is warm and doesn’t rain all year round. 

Jongho is stuck here for another year, but everybody wants a taste of the boy with vocals straight from heaven. He already has full scholarships lined up all over the globe.

Scholarships Seonghwa can only dream of. He applied for one close to the city Hongjoong grew up in and two in the south. The last two more out of obligation than actual will. This was the next step in his life, so he had to take it, and he wasn’t going to get there with the money he earned from his part-time job. 

Seonghwa didn’t look forward to moving, having grown rather attached to this village that to him was still a mystery even on a good day. But for Hongjoong, Seonghwa supposes, he could get used to weather that would make him sweat buckets. 

As Jongho stomps out the fire, Yeosang off to the side screaming that he’s going to get himself burnt, Seonghwa feels like something is coming to an end. 

He catches Hongjoong’s fond smile in that moment. It’s one of the smiles that makes his eyes crinkle and puts his teeth on display. 

Just as the fire is starting to spread—Jongho’s boot not much of a solution—the rain starts to fall. 

It feels like something is coming to an end, with Seonghwa shrugging off his jacket and running to shield Jongho with it. The boy has an important recital tomorrow, he needs his voice.

Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong move to stand behind him, clothed arms decorated with long crusted paint coming to shield his own exposed ones. Seonghwa doesn’t know if the shiver that runs through his body is because of the cold or because Hongjoong presses a kiss to the nape of his neck while trying to stay balanced on the tips of his toes. 

Yeosang approaches swearing. “Seonghwa, you stupid wannabe gentleman.” A second set of arms come to wrap around his waist regardless. 

It’s an awkward mess of limbs and Jongho is definitely getting wet because his already soaked through jacket isn’t doing jack shit. But it’s okay because he lowers it and Jongho joins the sentimental mood by throwing one arm in Yeosang’s direction and the other around the limbs already surrounding Seonghwa’s middle. 

They stand there, cold, drenched, and shivering. They stand there, soaked through to their bones, Seonghwa’s jacket pressed between their bodies, forgotten like the fire that has gone back to sleep. They stand there, together. 

It feels like something is coming to an end, but every ending is accompanied by a new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been a long time coming. A new fandom! Finally the beginning of my first Ateez fic (pls hold me). 
> 
> Even for me, this is quite different from anything I've ever tried before. At this point, I'm just trying to gauge if there is any interest for this. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!! 
> 
> [ twitter](http://twitter.com/dreaminahero)|[ curiosity killed the cat ](https://curiouscat.me/lertsek)


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